


Green With Envy

by dollcewrites



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Canon-Typical Violence, Hisoka is a tricky bastard as usual, Illumi coming to terms with his jealousy, M/M, Overstimulation, Porn With Plot, illumi can't tell the difference between bloodlust or lust when it comes to Hisoka
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-25
Updated: 2016-02-25
Packaged: 2018-05-22 23:11:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6097080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dollcewrites/pseuds/dollcewrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What promised to be an easy job for Illumi becomes increasingly difficult when Hisoka involves himself.<br/>Naturally.<br/>But perhaps, this time, it's constructive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Green With Envy

**Author's Note:**

> Envy (from Latin _invidia_ ): an emotion which "occurs when a person lacks another's achievement, or possession, and either desires it or wishes that the other lacked it." A person may covet that which they are envious of.
> 
> _The whole body is full of darkness when the eye, the lamp of body, is bad. (Luke 11:34-36.)_
> 
> _He who is glad at calamity will not go unpunished. (Proverbs 17.5.)_
> 
> _Envy ruins the body's health, making bones rot (Proverbs 14.30) and prohibiting the inheritance of the kingdom of God. (Galatians 5.19-21.)_

A large number of heads in the room swivel when Illumi walks through the door.

He can feel their eyes, assessing him and undressing him.

Not that it mattered. He’d been prepared for this in the form a disguise, held in place by his lovely needles. A few indiscreet pins in his scalp both transform his body, and pile his hair elegantly atop his head.

The stares of these strangers is the reason for his disguise, and his disguise is the reason for their stares. A paradox.

He keeps his gate smooth, placing one foot after the other, hips swaying just a little. Walking in the bejeweled stilettos proved no issue for him, even with his feet transformed to an unfamiliar, smaller and delicate shape.

Prying eyes soon return to their companions, drinks, and other entertainment.

The house Illumi has infiltrated is luxurious. The room’s ceiling is high and dome shaped, chandeliers blossoming from it. White marble floors are interrupted by lavish rugs, gilded tables, and padded chairs. The curtains are cream coloured silk and classical music echoes from an antique phonograph.

A boudoir table to the side of the entrance offers glasses of champagne.

In the centre of the room, a large staircase opens and twists up on both sides to the second floor balconies, which overlook the luminescent entry hall.

Illumi moves past the guests, scanning the crowd. It’s apparent his target is not here, but the party is full and large, so he’s not concerned.

The man he is being paid to assassinate is likely to be gambling in one of the back rooms, if Illumi’s sources are correct. And he is meticulous about these sorts of things, so they are almost certainly correct.

As he moves toward the staircase, he passes a mirror so large it borders on vulgar. It’s frame is golden and the metal is convoluted into the shapes of swans and lilies.

He admires his own handiwork as he regards himself.

His target is susceptible to beautiful woman, and Illumi’s plan is to lure him into an empty bedroom on the upstairs floor where he can kill him cleanly and quietly in private. The way he prefers it.

With his skill, Illumi could have looked like anyone. He could have been a classic, curvaceous blonde if he’d pleased. But he preferred to alter his appearance as little as possible—it required fewer, more easily concealed pins, for a first. And secondly, it left him plenty of energy to deploy in other forms of his Nen.

The person who looked back at him in the mirror could’ve been his twin sister.

His jaw was softer, face slightly rounder, but under the makeup he wore—shimmering, coal lined eyes and dark red lipstick—his face was nearly the same. A green silk dress clung to his now feminine form, hugging his slim waist and stretching over widened hips. Small cranes sit embroidered in the emerald fabric. A diamond shaped opening over his chest, trimmed with gold like the other seams of the dress, reveals heavy cleavage.

The length and tightness of the garment would have been too constricting for his legs, but an opening from his left ankle ran tastefully upwards to the top of his thigh, flashing smooth skin every time he stepped.

As for his height, he’s a few inches shorter.

He moves under one of the staircase arches and past an indoor fountain, his eyes settling on a mahogany door opened to a dimly lit room.

When he steps into said room, the crackling piano from the record that is playing and the sounds of the fountain fade away.

The room is hazy with smoke from cigars and cigarettes, and filled with low wooden tables surrounded by clusters of cushy chairs, red velvet cushions pressed against them.

This room’s inhabitants are less mirthful and frivolous.

The atmosphere is feverish, a cesspool of unsavoury inclinations.

There’s a mix of older, fatter men sucking on their cigars, and lean, young men gripping their whiskey glasses. They all have a hungry look about them, regardless. Some women are playing too, feather boas encircling necks, hands weighed down with rings holding the glasses they sip at. Some beauties hang at the sides of players, stroking suit shoulders and tittering.

Illumi slinks through the room and is quick to note no small amount of money is being gambled away. It’s a party for the rich, and he’s not surprised. The sum of money he expects to receive for this job is just as gluttonous.

This job is a slice of cake, he thinks. Easy money. The guests’ lips are loose with liquor and he can catch the pig with his pants down.

As soon as he thinks this, his plans go sideways at an alarming rate.

As he’s subtly scanning the room for his target, who doesn’t appear to be here, he sees fuchsia curls of hair from behind. Warning bells ring in his head.

There’s no mistaking it, it can only be him.

That distinct, ridiculous hair spells trouble. Illumi has to slip away before he’s noticed, before the man has a chance to mess up his perfectly crafted assassination scheme—

Even from across the room, Illumi can detect the tense of his shoulders, the way his arm stills around the girl he has sitting half in his lap as he plays poker. Illumi watches a manicured, clawed hand set a glass of whiskey down on the table.

A moment has passed since Illumi spotted him, but it’s too late. He moves to turn away, just as that red head turns its gaze toward him. Golden eyes burn through him, fixating like a lion locating a limping gazelle on the savannah.

Illumi has his back to him as he makes his way toward the exit. Surely, Hisoka wouldn’t have recognised him in this disguise. He’d only glimpsed Illumi’s face for a moment, and his body was nothing to go by right now. Still, that gaze had held recognition. Just as Illumi can sense Hisoka stand and excuse himself, Hisoka could have sensed Illumi’s presence.

He hadn’t been concealing his natural aura completely. No one on the VIP list was a threat, and so he hadn’t anticipated any other powerful Nen users at the party, let alone Hisoka.

 _What was the magician doing here anyway?_ Illumi curses his lack of preparation and his horrible luck. It was just like Hisoka to turn up at the most inconvenient of times.

Striding quickly past the staircase again, he heads for the open doors of the ballroom. A throng of people glitter as they waltz across the polished floor. His heels click across the marble and soon he’s sliding between the dancers.

The phonograph’s music is loudest here, a violin flirting solemnly through the air, amplified by the walls of the ballroom which are fit with wall to wall mirrors.

A splash of magenta colours the corner of his vision when he flicks his eyes to the mirror. He continues to weave through the crowd. When he’s almost at the door which leads to the next sitting room, he feels Hisoka’s aura vanish. He looks over the sea of dancers. The heads are lush with naturally coloured hair. The magician is nowhere in sight.

A voice purrs behind him, tickling the back of his exposed neck.

_“May I have this dance?”_

Illumi turns and looks up into golden eyes, hooded by lids with fine ginger lashes. It’s strange, looking _up_ at Hisoka. Usually their eyes are level, but right now, Illumi is shorter. And he suspects the man’s shoes have an inch or two of heel.

Hisoka’s suit is white, and his undershirt is cream. A crimson tie circles under his shirt collar, dipping down to disappear into the crisp lapels of the suit’s jacket.

On top of this all, he is wearing a wide smile which is both pleasant, and indecent, all at once.  
His hand is extended, palm open, waiting.

Illumi wants to thrust needles through Hisoka’s eyes. Or jab them through his windpipe. Or perhaps, rip that from his throat with bare hands. It would ruin the man’s suit fantastically, and match his tie perfectly.

Instead, without saying a word, he places his hand in Hisoka’s and steps toward him.

His hand has always been slightly slimmer than Hisoka’s, but now it is noticeably smaller as they entwine fingers. _That_ part is... not unfamiliar.

Impossible as it seems, Hisoka’s grin grows fractionally wider. His free hand rests upon Illumi’s waist. When Illumi places his hand on Hisoka’s shoulder, he digs his nails in and feels the suit jacket rip.

“Ah, I knew it was you, dear Illumi,” Hisoka sighs happily. His eyelashes flutter.

As they begin to dance, he strokes a thumb against Illumi’s side where his hand rests.

“How did you know?” Illumi’s voice is a deadpan.

“I knew as soon as you came into the room, and I had a feeling from the moment you stepped into the building. Your presence is one I am _very_ attuned to,”

Illumi resists the urge to scrunch up his face. “I want you to leave me alone.”

“Do you really?” Hisoka breathes against his cheek, lips moving to the top of Illumi’s ear.

Illumi twists the sensitive area away from him and resumes his glaring.

“Yes, I do. I have business to attend to.”

“I would’ve thought an assassin with _business_ to attend to wouldn’t be dancing with a strange guest,” Hisoka smirks.

To that, Illumi has no reply.

Hisoka leads them across the dancefloor to an opening, and then looks down into Illumi’s eyes, which have not left the man’s face. “Oh, Illumi, quit glaring at me like you want to murder me. You think your mask is so expressionless, but the bloodlust in your eyes is so naked and open, it’s turning me on.”

Illumi breaks his gaze and instead focuses on a sparkling diamond dripping from a woman’s earring.

They twirl slowly to avoid a couple waltzing. Illumi’s hands are hot where they meet Hisoka’s skin. It’s proving difficult to not look at the other man. He concentrates on calming his pulse.

Hisoka speaks up again. “It’s no good, I can still feel your bloodlust. At least… _most_ of it is bloodlust. Do I detect a hint of another kind? I can never tell, with you. Perhaps you don’t separate them,” he muses. The hand on Illumi’s waist moves to press against the small of his back and Hisoka steps even closer as they waltz. When Illumi refuses to give a reply, he can feel Hisoka smile delightedly. “Also,” he continues in a conversational tone, “your fingers are half a centimeter deep in my shoulder.”

Illumi hadn't noticed. He retracts his fingers.

“Sorry about your suit.” He is not sorry.

“It’s not a problem, I have plenty more. The only garment it would be a tragedy to ruin is your dress.” Hisoka’s hand runs up the smooth side of the dress, and then back down, to the opening at the top of Illumi’s thighs where it splits. Illumi feels fingertips ghost over the bare skin there.

Hisoka’s tone is low and dripping like honey. “To seduce your target, I suppose?”

Illumi scans the dancers for anyone possibly listening or watching them. No one appears to be. “Yes.”

“I admire your—” Eyes dip to Illumi’s voluptuous chest, “—skill with disguises.”

Illumi will kill him later.

“If you’ll excuse me.” He lets go of Hisoka and steps back, inclining his head carefully so as not to dislodge his hairstyle or pins. In a controlled manner he drains all traces of gratitude from his tone. “Thank you for the dance. Enjoy the rest of your evening.”

Turning on a heel, he makes to leave. He ignores the heat in his body parts which are disappointed to part from the awful magician’s side.

“Oh, I intend to,” Hisoka’s voice carries back to Illumi.

  


 

 

Illumi’s target is nowhere to be found.  
He sweeps the entry hall again, delves into all the little side rooms, methodically moves through the banquet hall with a meticulous gaze.

His target is not gambling, eating, or dancing. As a last resort, Illumi checks the bathrooms, waiting by them for just under half an hour and watching the people move in and out of the men’s room.

Leaving his empty champagne glass—he’d been drinking it for show—on a small glass table, he locates the kitchen. A waiter is standing outside in a white suit and black bow tie.

No one else is around.

It’s only a moment before a pin finds it’s way into his cranium. His eyes glaze over, much like those of a deceased fish on a chopping block.

“Where is Maxwell Black?” Illumi demands.

“I don’t know who Maxwell Black is.” The waiter’s voice remains monotone.

Illumi tries another approach. “He is the eldest son of the Black family, who own the world’s largest stock of diamonds. He is a guest here tonight. Do you know him?”

If recognition were able to cross the dead eyes of Illumi’s victim, it might. “Yes. I remember his name on the VIP list now.”

“Good. Have you seen him?”

“Not since the start of the evening.”

“So you don’t know where he is?”

“No.”

“Has he left?”

The waiter is silent for a second. “No.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. His car is still here. He hasn’t called for a valet to retrieve it.”

That’s something, at least.

Illumi considers the puppet of a man before him, and then plucks the pin from his head. The man blinks and his forehead creases into a frown. Eyes focus on Illumi and his mouth opens a little.

“Um, sorry... did you just say something? Can I—can I help you with anything, ma’am?”

Illumi takes the pin which is now between his fingers and fixes it at the back of his head. He feels his vocal cords convulse in his throat.

“I was just wondering if you could direct me to the ladies’ room,” He smiles at the boy, his voice higher and sweeter.

“It’s, um, it’s right over there. I-I can escort you if you’d like!” Realising his odd offer, his skin begins to flush upward from his neck.

“That won’t be necessary, thank you.” Illumi leaves him standing red faced by kitchen door.

After he double checks the rooms, Illumi needles a few of the other staff and guests who he can get alone. His interrogation of them plays out much the same. Some do not know Maxwell Black, those that do say they haven’t seen him since around the start of the party, and none of them believe to have seen him leaving.

Illumi is left with one last resort, and he is furious.

He strides up to the armchair where Hisoka is lounging, a full hand of cards splayed between his long fingers. The smoke in the room twists angrily midair in Illumi’s wake, disrupted by his haste.

“We need to talk.”

Hisoka looks up at him, and raises his eyebrows, his lips frowning ever so slightly, “Whatever is the matter, my darling?”

Illumi wants to rip the skin off of his face, so he can never make that obviously fake-surprised expression again. He crosses his arms. “Now.”

Hisoka looks to the other players, all of whom are white as sheets, with gazes fixed on Illumi. One plump man is sweating profusely in his corduroy suit, hands shaking around his cards. Illumi should probably turn down his malicious aura, but he hasn’t the patience.

“If you’ll excuse me, gentlemen.” Hisoka lays his cards flat on the table, and pushes himself upright, sliding one hand into a suit pocket and offering his free arm to Illumi. “Shall we?”

Illumi ignores it, and struts out of the room, Hisoka following after him.

They emerge by the fountain. Hisoka catches up to him, and slides his hand around Illumi’s waist. Illumi considers ripping it off—it wouldn’t be the first time Hisoka’s arm has suffered such a fate—but he decides it would cause too much of a scene.

Instead, he continues to walk around to the base of the staircase. He dials down his aura so they don’t attract attention. They simply appear to be a couple, making their way upstairs.

Once they reach a shadowed section of wall on one of the balconies, a distance from the railing, Illumi whirls on him.

 _“Where is he?”_ He hisses.

Hisoka looks delighted. “ _Who_ is _he?_ I’m afraid you’re not really making sense, my dear Illumi.”

What Illumi desires to reply is something along the lines of, _I hate you, please die,_ but instead he regulates his voice to a low growl. “Maxwell Black, my target. You know where he is. You’ve done something. Tell me where he is.”

“Ah, you’re no fun.” Hisoka’s expression says differently. He looks entertained to no end and Illumi’s fingers are itching to rip him apart. Once again, the magician offers his arm. “If you’ll allow me.”

“I will not.”

“Suit yourself.”

Hisoka saunters across the platform of the stairs, to the other side of the balconies, a new row of doors attached. Illumi stalks after him.

They follow a strip of red carpet that rolls down the lines of doors, and twists into a hallway, more doors set in it’s walls. They reach the end, an identical white door before them. Hisoka turns the curved brass handle.

He opens it into a spacious, modern looking state room. Curtains are drawn over a large window and the thick, soft carpet is the colour of milk. A small chandelier sparkles above a queen sized bed, abundant with pillows and covered with a duvet that is probably stuffed with goose feathers. There’s an en suite bathroom to the side.

Illumi would like to say the room is neat, clean, and all-white.

But he can’t say that.

This morning, it probably was.

It was definitely _designed_ all white, _decorated_ all white, and cleaned regularly to keep it so—however, it is now lavishly painted with a large amount of blood. Which is thickening fast.

Crimson sprays decorate one wall, a long lick of blood standing out brightly against the light wallpaper. If one thought it to be intentional (which it likely was, considering Hisoka was responsible) one would remark it was done artfully. An ace of hearts is embedded in the far wall, close to the spray but parallel.

The cause of this dripping stripe is none other than the semi-decapitated, but recognisable, Maxwell Black. His corpse is slumped against the ground, one arm reaching out, as if he fell while in motion. His pants are undone and pushed down, but due to his position, Illumi is spared the view of the dead man’s genitalia. The ruby fluid pooling around him has drenched a good half of his suit and is crusting up the expensive carpet.

Another semi-decapitated party guest is laid out on the bed.

The slash across her throat is like a red choker. Her hair, once pale blond and now tinted strawberry blond, is fanned out on a pillow. It was probably silky, but as of now, is sticky and stringy. The white fabric of the bed set is stained beyond salvaging with half dried blood.

Her clothes, unlike the late Mr.Black’s, are clean. This is because they are lying in a pile by the bed. The only thing she wears are black stilettos.

This is just the kind of mess Illumi strives to avoid.

And just the kind of mess that Hisoka leaves in his wake.

Illumi is all kinds of furious.

He has to start somewhere. “Why is she naked?”

Hisoka follows his gaze to the girl. Illumi knows what he’s seeing. He knows why she’s naked. But he asks anyway, and he doesn’t know why.

“Before this lovely woman’s _untimely_ and _unfortunate_ death, she was partaking in some pleasurable activities.”

“With Black?”

Hisoka blinks down at her body. “No, with me.”

All the hairs up Illumi’s neck prickle. “You’re disgusting.”

Hisoka raises his hands. “Believe me, she died while _very happy._ You could say her last moment was that of bliss.”

Illumi’s stomach is made of iron. He’s immune to every type of poison and he’s never been sick a day in his life. He could watch a man eat raw innards and still enjoy a chocolate smoothie at the same time. But right in that moment, he feels ill with an emotion he can’t place.

“Just tell me what happened. I don’t have time to play twenty fucking questions with you.”

Hisoka wanders over the the crumpled body of Illumi’s target. He gazes at it for a moment before moving to the wall to remove the card from it. “Turns out, your Maxwell Black has—” he stops himself and smiles, shaking his head a little like he’s just overheard a funny joke, “— _had_ a thing for blondes and voyeurism.”

He tucks the card into the inner pocket of the suit, and continues. “Althea—well, she claimed that was her name, but I know another liar when I hear one—anyway, she’s dead, so I’ll humour the girl. _Althea_ and I were having a lovely time at the party, when Black took an interest in her. Soon enough, we retreated to this comfortable, private bedroom. He preferred to watch us, first, which was all the better for me. And of course,” he gestures to the blond, Althea, “ _waste not._ Also, I like to think I’m a merciful person, so I gave her an ending in ecstasy, and didn’t let her see me kill Black. She got to go first, completely oblivious. The moment I slit her throat, Black was in shock, naturally. Stopped jerking himself off, and looked at me with pure terror in his eyes—I nearly came again right then and there, honestly. But when I turned for him, he had the wits to run. I caught him with a card before he could take one step.”

Illumi has to unclench his jaw to press his next sentence over his teeth.

“You knew Black was my target. You planned to kill him from the start, and knew you’d have to kill them both when you did it this way. How did you know?”

Hisoka studies his fingernails. “One of your informants was easily persuaded.”

Things tick over in Illumi’s brain very quickly and he reaches the conclusion that Hisoka must have stalked him on one of his research expeditions, and gotten the same information from one of his connections. “Who was it? I will kill them.”

“Don’t bother, dear Illumi. He’s already dead.”

“Why, then? Why go to all this trouble. You don’t want the money, do you?”

Hisoka steps toward him and finally meets his gaze. “No, not at all. Black’s dead. His younger brother is all set to inherit the fortune of the diamond company, and you’ll receive your payment from him. We’ll all go home happy.” He glances at the corpses once more. “Well, except for Max and Althea here.”

“I will not go home happy.”

“Oh?”

“Tell me why you did this. Tell me why you interfered with my assignment.”

Taking a final step toward Illumi, Hisoka lets out a soft sigh. His hand comes up to Illumi’s chin and tilts it upward.

Hisoka’s thumb caresses his cheek, the pad of it soft, the razor sharp tip of it setting Illumi’s senses on alert as it glides by his face. “Because,” Hisoka leans in and kisses Illumi’s cheekbone, and then pulls back to watch his face, “I adore seeing you so frustrated. Your bloodlust is intoxicating, my dear Illumi.”

Illumi’s fingers find their way to Hisoka’s tie, and he drags the man’s face down to his level, seething. His next words come as a hiss through his teeth. _“I—”_

“You _what,_ Illumi? You hate me? You want to kill me? You want—”

Illumi’s other hand finds Hisoka’s hip and digs its nails in. _“I want—”_

He doesn’t have to words to explain what he wants. Hisoka’s breath ghosts over his lips.

He isn’t sure what he wants. The nerves in his limbs are screaming. He’s torn in two.

He releases Hisoka’s tie and instead buries his hand in the back of his hair, closing up that last inch between them, and they’re kissing, their bodies pressed flush against each other, hips clashing, Hisoka’s arms encircling him.

Illumi can feel every lithe muscle move in Hisoka’s body when it does. Lips are wet and smooth. A hand is splayed on his back, one is sliding down to his ass. Hisoka’s mouth is hot and feverish on his, and his tongue runs over the front of Illumi’s teeth. Shivering breaths are drawn in as lips are teased, heads are readjusted. Illumi pushes his hips back so there is a sliver of space between them, and slides his hand down Hisoka’s pants. His cock is hard and throbbing when Illumi’s hand grasps it, and he receives a sharp bite on the lip as a reward.

Hisoka’s hands roam hungrily up his back, feeling out the seam and locating the zipper concealed near the back of Illumi’s neck.

Both of Illumi’s hands move to help him peel the dress off and a snarl comes from Hisoka’s lips, hot against his neck.

It is followed by a wretched groan of delight moments later, when he realises Illumi wears no undergarments whatsoever.

Illumi kicks his shoes off with such force, one of the stilettos’ heels sinks into the side of the mattress. He’d forgotten how sharp they were.

Next, his hands fumble with Hisoka’s buttons. The magician shrugs off his jacket and helps him undo his shirt, which then follows the jacket. The pants are last to be pushed off and thrown to the pile.

Stark naked, they wrestle each other over to the bed, hands scrabbling and lips nipping at flesh. Illumi glances over Hisoka’s shoulder at the corpse of the late Althea.

He pushes past Hisoka. In a quick movement, he folds the bloodied duvet over her, and then rolls them off the bed. They drop onto the floor on the other side of the bed with a heavy thud, out of sight. A few of the ruined pillows follow them and Illumi is satisfied.

A hand runs over his spine and down to his ass, and his skin prickles. Hisoka presses a kiss to the back of his neck with smiling lips.

No command passes through those lips but Illumi leans forward anyway, for his own submissive pleasure. His elbows sink into the mattress.

Hands glide over his sides, dipping at his waist, stopping to rest gripping his hips.

He can feel as Hisoka leans over him, and kisses tickle skin, traveling down his back.

Hot breath teases his newly acquired, unfamiliar parts and he realises Hisoka must be crouching behind him. _Pervert._

Illumi is new to the sensation of being wet in this way. But he is, and he thinks he might start dripping down the insides of his thighs if Hisoka doesn’t put his tongue to good use very soon.

Which he doesn’t.

He stands, and Illumi pushes an agonised moan into the mattress. He hears Hisoka chuckle.

“Turn around for me.”

Illumi obliges his request, flipping himself over.

Hisoka’s eyes move over him slowly. He crawls over Illumi, his hands trailing after his gaze, oddly gentle as they explore. Slowly, he kisses Illumi.

A gasp escapes Illumi as fingers lightly toy with one of his nipples.

Then, Hisoka’s hands move to Illumi’s hair. That, at least, is familiar ground.

Fingers stroke over his updo and seek out the pins holding it in neat piles.

Illumi reaches up his hands to stop Hisoka.

"If you take them out, my transformation will revert."

Hisoka’s hands do not still, and so Illumi lets his own fall away. The magician’s voice is breathy by his cheek. "I like you better that way."

Illumi feels his blood rushing in his ears. Hisoka pulls the needles out carefully and a waterfall of black hair descends, silky tendrils unleashed from twists. He feels his muscles burn momentarily and his joints readjust themselves, his body returning to being his own. A normal human would probably find the pain unbearable, but to Illumi, the mutation of cells is only a minor discomfort.

With a flick of his fingers, Hisoka sprays the needles between them away, and they bury themselves in the adjacent wall. Judging by the dense squelch, one must have sunk into the upper arm of the girl's corpse through the sheet.

Hands run fervently through loose dark hair, and then over Illumi’s bare chest and abs.

His arousal had no issues making the switch, and Hisoka’s hands find that too, giving Illumi’s length an experimental stroke that has him quivering and needy. He refuses to be left in such a state and arches up to wrap his arms around Hisoka, pressing the flat of his tongue to the man’s neck and licking upward.

Something slimy drips onto his hip and he glances down.

It’s a pink dollop of bungee gum, which has stretched down from the tips of Hisoka’s fingers.

“May I?”

Illumi gives one nod. He falls back down against the mattress, his back already covered in a light sheen of sweat which sticks to the soft sheet.

Hisoka kneels over him, two fingers coated in an excessive amount of his own, multipurpose substance—a transmutation of his nen, playfully dubbed bungee gum.

Shutting his eyelids, Illumi concentrates on his own breathing.

The finger that teases his opening is cooler than he’d like. He exhales too quickly.

One finger, probably Hisoka’s index finger, presses its way into him. This time he controls his exhale so it’s more natural.

It slides in easily, rubbing up against the inner walls. It is not long before another joins it.

Illumi squirms a little. It is both discomforting and invasive, and pleasurably tantalizing. The friction and heat builds and he finds himself moving to push against the fingers inside him.

In a practiced curl of his fingers, Hisoka brushes up against Illumi’s prostate and he left is gasping at the air, pulling the undersheet of the bed into his fists. Once the perfect angle is found, Hisoka is relentless, but cruel. Each thrust is deliberate and slow, and Illumi cries out in frustration, desperately trying to fuck himself on Hisoka’s fingers which are not enough.

Hisoka’s free hand holds him down by the hips to stop his writhing.

Illumi pants into the air.

At last, Hisoka moves his fingers faster. Hot spikes of pleasure drive through Illumi’s body and begin to pool in his gut. His eyes remain closed, fingers tangled in the undersheet, and he may have ripped a hole through it, but it doesn’t matter because he’s about to come—

The hand holding his hips down moves to tighten around the base of his cock and the fingers inside him are removed.

He whimpers and angrily opens his eyes to see Hisoka coating his hand with another string of hot pink bungee gum, which he then strokes over himself. Illumi’s saliva glands release drool into his mouth as he watches the hand move over Hisoka’s impressive erection. It’s thicker than Illumi’s, and curved upwards.

Hisoka leans over him once more, wiping a hand on the sheet before placing both hands over Illumi’s. The latter lets out a low growl.

He twines his fingers with Hisoka’s, and with roll of his back he throws his weight upward and flips Hisoka over, so that the magician is the one splayed on the bed. Illumi’s hair falls over them both and before Hisoka can protest, he locks their lips.

The game of pinning hands is abandoned, in favour of traversing one another’s bodies with said hands.

Hisoka’s hands find Illumi’s waist quickly. He positions himself over the man, hands pressed to his chest for support as he lowers himself onto Hisoka.

Another whimper, this one of satisfaction, crawls from his throat.

He lifts his hips up and down once, experimentally. Hands stroke his thighs and he thinks his name is breathed out, but he is caught in the feeling of Hisoka filling him up. The orgasm he was denied is quickly resurfacing, his body trembling.

Hisoka leans up and they manage a brief kiss, before Illumi starts to really move.

He fucks himself on Hisoka, nails now scraping down the other’s back which has leant up from the mattress. Thighs are clamped tightly on either side of Hisoka, and his back is arched, chest thrust outward. Hisoka’s length is hitting his prostate every time he brings himself down, and heat pulses and throbs through him, bright sparks in his vision. Precum leaks from his flushed tip.

Every nerve ending seems to burn. Doubly so where he and Hisoka are joined. His body is both alive, and exhausted with overstimulation.

“I—don’t—want—you—to— _ah_ —” Each syllable from Illumi’s mouth is punctuated with a thrust, “fuck—with—my— _oh_ , _fuck_ —work—ever—again—”

He claws desperately at Hisoka’s back before moving his hands up to grip at his shoulders instead, fucking himself faster. _More, more, more,_ every inch of his body is screaming.

Hisoka sits up slightly higher and suddenly with each thrust Illumi’s weeping, throbbing length is rubbing against the man’s stomach and it drives him to the edge. Hisoka meets him halfway, pressing up into him with a roll of his hips whenever Illumi brings himself down. His hands squeeze Illumi’s hips and he knows the magician’s fingertips will leave bruises, that the force will mark Illumi as his.

Somehow, through his moaning, Illumi manages to push out another sentence. “And—I—don’t—want—you—to— _fuck, oh, fuck_ —” Hisoka’s hands run up his sides and thumbs slide over his nipples, “fuck—any—one—else—ever—again—”

He rocks desperately in Hisoka’s lap, his dick smearing precum on the other man’s abs.

Hisoka’s hands come up to grip his throat, the redhead is moaning his name, and the motion sends him into overdrive. Normally, he could last much longer, but his body has been anticipating this for more time than he’d like to admit. He gasps for air which is denied by Hisoka’s tight grip over his pulse. His consciousness frays at the edges, and he tips over the edge, pleasure lashing through his body as he comes hard.

Hisoka fucks into him two more times and then drags his nails down Illumi’s back as he comes inside him, jerking forward and breathing hotly against Illumi’s throat which he has just released.

Illumi is panting nonsense into Hisoka’s ear and his curtain of black hair is a mess because it’s stuck to his sweaty body.

Their breathing is ragged, the only sound left to be heard in the room.

Illumi slides of off Hisoka and falls onto his back, chest heaving. Beside him, Hisoka faces up to the ceiling.

  


 

 

Illumi looks to the pristine white of Hisoka’s suit, thrown to the floor, and then to the ruined state of the room. A thought crosses his mind.

“How did you keep your suit clean?”

Hisoka’s eyes flick down to it and he smiles lazily. “A magician never reveals his secrets. Except, you already know this one, so I might as well show you.” He stretches over to pick the jacket up. With the other hand, he peels a layer off it. Illumi doesn’t comprehend what he’s seeing as the clean fabric of the jacket flops _away_ from the jacket, revealing another layer. He has time to get his head around this optical illusion as he watches Hisoka peel off the remaining patches of his texture surprise.

The stripped jacket left behind sports a spray of bloody stains.

“Ah.”

Hisoka lets it drop to the floor. He leans back against the headboard and puts his hands behind his head.

Illumi moves over to him and cuddles up to his side, letting his head flop onto Hisoka’s bare chest.

“I am sorry that I even said sorry for damaging your jacket.”

“You weren’t sorry in the first place.” Hisoka strokes a hand through Illumi’s hair gently.

Illumi closes his eyes. “But now I am sorry for myself, for giving you an apology you didn’t deserve.”

“You’re a real piece of work.”

Opening one eye for a moment, he looks up at Hisoka. “That, coming from you. We just had sex in a room with two corpses that you’re responsible for, one of which you killed during an orgasm in front the other, which you killed with his pants down.”

“Fair point.” Hisoka continues running his fingers through Illumi’s hair. His voice gets a notch quieter, a sultry edge sanding his tone. “Did you mean what you said, dear Illumi?”

Illumi knows exactly which words Hisoka is inquiring about.

He swallows. “...Yes, I meant it. Fuck with one of my assignments again and it’s over. And as for the second part—” he opens his eyes to see Hisoka is looking straight at him. “I meant that too. I’ll kill anyone else you try to fuck.”

The feeling eating at his stomach—it stung his pride to admit it, and indeed, it was incredibly hard to recognise—but it was jealousy.

Envy, maybe, was a more accurate term. Jealousy implied a fear of loss, while envy implied a desire for that which one did not have. Hisoka did not, and had never, belonged to Illumi.

Hisoka’s brows raise at his words. “You have terrible control issues. Far too possessive.” He leans down, the hand that had stopped in Illumi’s hair moving to cup his jaw. “Jealous, are we, Illumi?”

Illumi blinks at him. Then, he stretches up to press his lips against Hisoka’s. A soft, firm kiss.

A kiss, that, instead of demanding, for the first time, is begging: _Be mine. Be mine._

He can feel Hisoka smile as he kisses him.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he breathes against Illumi’s mouth when they part. “But, fine. I’ll only sleep with you. On one condition.”

Illumi tilts his head in question.

“I have an _incredibly_ demanding sex drive. If I’m only allowed to have sex with you…” Hisoka’s eyes move over Illumi’s features, “we are going to be having a lot of sex. I need you to promise me, if I commit to you, you’ll satisfy me. I will make demands.”

Illumi presses a kiss to Hisoka’s abdomen, and then lays his head back down. “I think I can manage that.”

Hisoka’s hand resumes it’s stroking of Illumi’s hair.

“I think you can.” Hisoka looks up to the ceiling. “Our... tastes align quite well.”

Illumi almost moves to feel his wrists, to check that there is no rope there. He can imagine it restraining his body, both a memory and a fantasy.

“And, with your nen, it would be hard to get bored of a body that could change,” Hisoka muses.

“But you prefer my own body.”

Hisoka nods. “I do.”

A different kind of pleasure seeps through Illumi’s veins. The rise and fall of Hisoka’s chest as he breathes nearly sends Illumi to sleep, but remembers something.

“You are wrong. I do not confuse lust and bloodlust. That is you.”

Hisoka’s lips twist up into a smile. “I’m certainly guilty of that. But believe me, you do too.”

Illumi pauses for a moment. “Only when it comes to you.”

“Only me?”

“Only you.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> u bet ur ass hisoka had all this planned to a T from the moment he got the details from illumi's informant  
>   
> anyway, thank you for reading! i love writing these two


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